Why was the Marksman so damned chatty all of a sudden? Because I can’t take the time to ask him any more of my questions. Nolo tried to fit that white arrow to his bowstring, but an invisible force held him immobile, not even the Marksman could overcome it no matter how hard that entity tried.
Ranispara whistled at the view. She stood on the far side of the hole well away from the Adversary, who was floating over it and Nolo, who was slumped on an outcropping not much wider than his butt.
The Adversary didn’t even glance in her direction after that initial look-see had revealed Ranispara to be nothing more than a mundane woman with really horrible timing. Instead, the Adversary surveyed the rubble. What was he looking for? What had happened to Death?
When that tentacle had exploded upward cracking the ground under her, she’d been thrown along with a goodly amount of what had formerly been the ground. Was she buried in the debris somewhere? Is that who you’re looking for?
He watched in growing horror as the Adversary partially dematerialize from the shoulder down and shove one of his now incorporeal arms into the rubble, seeking something.
The scrape of leather boots on stone dragged Nolo’s attention back to Ranispara. He willed her to flee before the Adversary changed his mind about her, or another tentacle shot out of that hole and grabbed her.
But none came. Loud crashes echoed from below as Ranispara squatted down to get a better look at the doings below. Were her gauntlets glowing?
Nolo coughed as the mist the Adversary had breathed finally reached him. Then his eyes bulged, and his throat constricted. A tar-like substance choked him as it shaped itself into strong hands and arms. More tar washed over him.
When it receded, it revealed the rest of his attacker—a matte-black man-shaped thing with wings. A rock struck its head then another and another until it swiveled around to glare at Ranispara. The lacy outline of a white tree glowed softly on the dark green of her uniform shirt. How the hell did she even get that?
“You like that, huh? Well, I’ve got plenty more where those came from.” She tossed another rock and as it flew toward its target, it glowed white for a moment before striking his attacker in the head again.
Incensed now, the demon-wannabe rushed after her. “I’ll get you for that, witch.”
“You have to catch me first.” Ranispara darted into the corridor she’d just exited.
You, crazy fool. You’ll get yourself killed. Nolo freed his arm from the Adversary’s control. Please, let her be okay. Ranispara had no real protection except the Queen of All Trees’ glowing sigil, but would that be enough?
Nolo didn’t know as much as he should about the Queen of All Trees. Considering her sudden and intense interest in Mount Eredren and his apprentice, rectifying that knowledge gap now topped his to-do list. There were too many legends about the Queen of All Trees, and they conflicted with each other so much, the truth about her was likely buried in the dust of ages past if anyone had ever known it. She was the kind of entity who kept more secrets than she divulged.
“Come back here, Gore. Leave that chit alone. She’s not important,” the Adversary shouted.
When his minion didn’t return, he extended a skeletal hand and shot a shadowy harpoon in the general direction this ‘Gore’ fellow had gone. Now was his chance while the Adversary was distracted by his misbehaving minion.
Nolo nocked Slain-in-the-Spirit, sighted and let it fly. Let my aim be true, Lord God of Hosts. Aloud he said, “for the One King.”
But luck was only half on his side. The Adversary reeled in his catch and a struggling Gore slid out of the corridor he’d just chased Ranispara down. And that damned creature fought the Adversary every step of the way, knocking that fiend out of the way. Slain-in-the-Spirit whizzed past the Adversary's hood just grazing it and doing no real damage Nolo could see.
“You would attack an unarmed man? Shame on you. I thought our Heavenly Father chose better foot soldiers than that.”
The Adversary freed a hand from the shadowy rope he used to haul his minion back to him and lobbed a black blob at Slain-in-the-Spirit. The luminous arrow had swung around like a moth searching for the flame it had been denied. But for some reason, it couldn’t lock onto the Adversary. Maybe there was something wrong with it.
“You must direct it,” said the Marksman.
His spectral hands merged with Nolo’s flesh-and-blood ones and in a blinding flash, Slain-in-the-Spirit appeared between his thumb and index finger eager for round two.
The Marksman overshadowed him but didn’t take control. He just moved into Nolo’s head. All the better to talk to him. His instructions vibrated Nolo’s bones, but there was no chance the Adversary could overhear them.
“You must direct it. Slain-in-the-Spirit isn’t like other arrows in my quiver. Once released, you must lock its target on the Enemy and concentrate all your will upon striking it. Only then can you score more than a glancing blow off that devil.”
That made a certain kind of sense. All right here’s your target. Nolo nocked, sighted and released. This time he concentrated on hitting the Adversary in the chest. He cleared his mind of all other thoughts except an image of that beautiful white arrow glowing with the righteous wrath of God piercing that creature’s black heart.
“Stay with it,” urged the Marksman.
Slain-in-the-Spirit flew true this time, and its tip glowed brighter as Nolo willed it to follow the Adversary’s every move. Behind them, stones clattered on stones, and a loud groan issued from them.
“I think a wall fell on me,” Death said as she crawled out of the rubble still clutching her satchel with the soul bottle.
One of her wings was bent at an awkward angle. It was likely broken. The other wing hung limply at her side betraying some damage to the primary feathers used for flying and steering. She didn’t look like she could fly anytime soon, and that was a problem. Her cargo was too precious to remain here. Those freed souls must go onward to their eternal reward, and Death had to take them there somehow, broken wings and all. But that was a problem for later.
“Ah, there you are. I thought I’d missed you.” The adversary gave the rope a sharp jerk sending his minion hurtling towards Death.
Gore crashed into her, and they went down in a tangle of limbs, feathers and shadows. Death’s satchel opened, and the soul bottle rolled out. Misty faces pressed against the glass, which shone with a pale bluish light. A shudder tore through Nolo at the sight, and he lost his concentration. Slain-in-the-Spirit drop to the ground, its target lost.
“Well, what have we here?”
The soul bottle flew into the Adversary’s outstretched hands.
“No!” Nolo struggled to his feet, but a shadow tackled him, and he hit the ground hard enough to see stars. He blinked them away and tried to rise again, but his captor held fast to him, refusing to let go.
“Yes, at least something has gone to plan today.”
“You can’t have it.”
Death threw her attacker over her head, and Gore landed on a pile of rubble. She pushed to a crouch and reached up to pluck the halo that had just crowned her off her head. She flung it chakram-style at the Adversary. As it flew, her halo changed to a luminous crown of thorns.
The Adversary sidestepped it. “Nice trick. But you’ll have to do better than that if you want to win.”
A sickle smile lit the harsh planes of a face that had once been handsome before his fall face-first into a lake of fire. Not even fallen angels could heal completely from third- and fourth-degree burns. But the halo didn’t stop when it struck the remains of a wall. It ricocheted off it and shot toward the Adversary’s back.
If I can just keep the Adversary from turning around, we might survive this. Nolo concentrated on Slain-in-the-Spirit. He couldn’t see where it had fallen when he’d let go of it, but that didn’t matter if he could call it back to its target—the devil enjoying an ill-gotten gloat at their expense.
“Come, Gore, it’s time we
left. I have a mageling to trap and a prison to escape.”
The Adversary jerked the shadowy rope still connected to the harpoon lodged in his minion’s back. Gore fought its hold, but he was dragged back to his maker, and the struggle took the devil out of the path of the halo. It sailed past his shoulder leaving a rent in his black robe and continued on through a hole where a wall had once stood.
“Oh, I’ve got more than a halo to throw at you,” Death said as she rose unsteadily to her feet.
A sword appeared in her hands, and gold flames erupted along its length. She ground its point into what remained of the floor and leaned hard on it to stay upright as she caught her halo on its return trip.
Death brought her blade up and swung it, and her halo, as she advanced on the Adversary. He dodged and wove laughing at her clumsy strikes that did nothing more than kick up sparks every time they struck stones, sending them flying in all directions. All her grace was gone. It had been knocked out of her before the fight had begun.
“Now, while he’s distracted,” the Marksman whispered into Nolo’s mind.
He’d gotten so caught up in the drama, he’d forgotten about Slain-in-the-Spirit. When he called, that holy arrow responded by swinging its head around until it lined up with the Adversary again, but there was no power behind it.
If he brought it back to his bow, he’d lose precious seconds, and Nolo was still pinned down by a partially transparent creature that had at least six arms and six hands to hold him immobile. Its weight bore down on him making everything including breathing difficult.
Death tripped over the remains of a fountain, and the Adversary kicked her blade out of her hand. It landed by the mouth of the corridor Ranispara had fled down. I hope she’s okay. Gregori will never forgive me if I let anything happen to her. That was one of the disadvantages of working closely with your best friend and his wife.
“How do I increase its momentum?” Nolo asked, and with that, the enchanted arrow’s stopping power.
“You believe. Belief is power. It is mightier than the bow because the bow is just a conduit for it.” The Marksman squeezed his shoulder.
And the Shayarin bow was the deadliest ranged weapon in the world because of its flexible design, which was why Death’s Markman had one. Though his was likely the prototype of the one used throughout Shayari today.
“Such a pity you’re in no condition to fence me for this.” The Adversary held the soul bottle up. “But we can’t always have everything we want. Such is life, or so they tell me.”
Death kicked out and tried to hook the Adversary’s ankle, but her skeletal foot went right through his billowing black robes as if he wasn’t there. The Adversary laughed at her stunned expression.
“I’m not corporeal. So, you can’t hurt me.”
The Adversary’s grin revealed a double row of serrated teeth. The import of his words snuffed out the last embers of hope in Nolo. If he can’t be hurt, then how can we beat him?
His mind was racing through the implications, searching for a solution. There had to be one. Nolo could not accept otherwise. Where there is God, there is always hope. If there is hope, then no situation was hopeless. That meant there was a way out. He just had to look for it.
Nolo clung to that belief as his gaze snagged on the soul bottle. Slain-in-the-Spirit responded to his silent command, and its head pointed at that glowing vessel.
May God forgive me for this. But it was the only solution Nolo could think of while the Adversary’s minion slowly suffocated him.
Unwilling to give up, Death threw her halo again. The Adversary dodged it. Before it could carom off the demolished stub of a column, he threw the soul bottle into the air, and a black mass shot out of his skeletal hand. It struck Death in the chest and lodged there.
It was another harpoon, and the Adversary merged the two lines in his hand, so he could take both his captives with him. Death writhed and clawed at the harpoon jutting from between her breasts. Purple ichor welled around the wound as her struggles weakened.
“No!” she screamed and bucked but couldn’t dislodge it.
“You were the last piece of the puzzle. So clever of Michael to set the ward that way. I didn’t think he would use an angel as the key, but I suppose it’s fitting since an archangel made the lock.”
“You’ll never break all the seals. My brother and sister angels will stop you.”
“Maybe they will, but maybe they won’t. Sometimes, evil wins. That’s the curse of free will, my dear.”
As the Adversary reached up to catch the soul bottle and release it from the hover spell, Slain-in-the-Spirit struck. It shattered the bottle and in one brilliant flash, freed the souls Death had harvested.
“No, you fool.” The Adversary threw back his head and howled like a wounded beast. His jaws unhinged, and his head morphed into a giant skull sucking all the air around him into it.
Oh God, no, he's vacuuming up those souls. Nolo struggled to get free, but he had no idea what he could do to help. Neither did the Marksman because that entity remained silent and watching.
“Good always triumphs eventually,” Ranispara said from somewhere.
Nolo couldn’t see where, but he scanned the area frantically for her dark head. Stay out of sight damn it, so the Adversary can’t swallow your soul too. I don’t even want to try an explain that to your husband. But she wouldn’t.
A sharp crack rang out and dashed his hopes as the Adversary spun his giant black skull around and smiled.
Collapsing Shields
“That’s not true. Healing works on everyone. But since yours and mine are two sides of the same power, you must allow it. Even though your magic is gone, you can still resist. Did no one ever teach you that?” The Guardian, name still unknown, gave Sarn an incredulous look.
Sarn shook his head. “No one’s ever taught me anything.”
“Then listen up. We have time for a very short lesson to put your mind at ease.”
“No, you don’t. I can’t hold it,” said the Guardian casting the shield. His voice was a strained whisper barely audible over the racket the monster was making. The fog screened it from view and probably hid them from it too, so there was no way to know what those tentacles were doing now or how close they were.
“You have to. He still refuses healing, and I won’t risk moving him anymore than necessary.” The Guardian-Healer looked back at Sarn, and hope shone like a naked flame in his eyes, but hope for what?
I don’t have any magic at all right now and even if I did, I still couldn’t break the curse on them. All I can do with the white magic is summon the Queen of All Trees. If she could have broken the curse, she would have done so a long time ago.
“Then hurry up and get that consent.”.
“You just hold that shield. Shrink it if you have to.”
“It’s already contracting. Get closer together so there’s less space to shield.”
“On it.”
As the shield collapsed inward, the Guardian-Healer seized Sarn by his forearms and pulled him into a sitting position, but he didn’t let go. One of his hands slid down to encompass Sarn’s wrist. The Guardian was searching for a pulse. Su, the Rangers' medic did that too.
Usually such contact would have bothered Sarn because he didn’t like to be touched, but he was too tired and numb to care, so he sagged against the shield stabilizing behind his back. There wasn’t a millimeter of space between him and it, but it was warm, and it made the perfect backrest.
“Still with me?” The Guardian-Healer shook Sarn.
“Yes.”
“Good, then listen closely. Earth magic itself has two sides—one side deals with rocks and plants, etc., and the other deals with bodies. Healing is obviously a variant of the latter one. I can stare at that rock over there all I like, but it ain’t budging no matter how hard I glare at it. You, on the other hand, can move it on a whim because it responds to your magic. Or it will when you get your magic back.”
The Gu
ardian shot Sarn the same look his son had been shooting him since he’d lost his magic. It was the ‘you’re getting the magic back’ look.
“I’m working on that, but—” Sarn fell silent as he realized his head didn’t hurt quite so much anymore. The world snapped into sharp focus. “You healed me. But I didn’t feel it.” Now he did though, the inside of his head felt warm and a little tingly but in a good way.
“Of course, you didn’t. You’re not supposed to.”
“I’m not?” That flew in the face of every encounter Sarn had ever had with a healer.
“No, that’s why I distracted you, so you wouldn’t resist if you did feel something.”
“But I didn’t consent.”
“You didn’t fight me either. As far as the magic is concerned, that counts as consent.”
“I didn’t fight you because I can’t without my magic.” Sarn pounded the ground with his fist.
The Guardian-Healer rose and extended his hand to Sarn, but he didn’t take it. How could this man be both the Guardian he revered and possess the same powers as the healers who’d hurt him in the past?
“You didn’t fight me because I returned the energy I’m borrowing from you to manifest. That’s why you didn’t feel it. Come on, take my hand and let’s get out of here.”
Sarn stared at that outstretched hand for a moment longer then grasped it and trusted the healer to lever him up not drain him.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But keep in mind, you’re not completely healed. You still have a concussion. It’s healing, but it’s still there. So, take it slow and don’t take anymore knocks to the head. You’ve had too many for someone so young.”
“But I didn’t feel cold and faint, and your power didn’t make my skin crawl, or my stomach twist up with nausea.” Sarn was babbling again but he couldn’t help himself.
“You’re describing a leech not a healer. That explains your reticence. I’m sorry you had to suffer through that. Leeches tend to prey on mages. They think you have power to spare, and that draining you won’t harm you. They’re wrong, so stay away from them.”
Curse Breaker: Sundered Page 32